


Refracted Memories

by meeshiefeet



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Coercion, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeshiefeet/pseuds/meeshiefeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a traveling carnival brings Carol and Daryl together, the wheels of fate are set in motion, forcing them to confront the ghosts of the past and the dangerous circumstances of the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Nine Lives Halloween Challenge. Multichapter. TRIGGER WARNINGS: suicide (implied), violence, attempted sexual coercion.

**A/N:** I need to give a HUGE thank you to bedlinens for all the help with French names and inadvertently giving me a huge plot point. Another HUGE thank you to kaoscraze82 for beta-listening to this as we drove across Kansas, and to Liddym2113 and Illusianation for all the support!

* * *

Daryl felt his way along the blackened walls until he found a seam in the plywood. A quick flip of the recessed handle, and he was rushed by crisp night air, flashing lights, and the nonstop music of the carousel down the midway. He took a deep breath, reveling in the temperature change that raised goosebumps on his arms, still covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Place was a damn sauna on these nights leading up to Halloween. Hundreds of bodies filling the place and jostling each other in an attempt to either get out as fast as possible, or take the opportunity to get a little closer to a frightened date.  
  
He dug the cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one, taking a long drag and glancing around at nothing in particular. Kids fighting over cotton candy. Some toddler squealing about whatever toddlers squealed about, which he suspected was pretty much everything. His eyes fell on the new tent some of the crew were setting up a few yards away, dark purple streaked with swirls of gold glitter meant to represent the moon and stars, but looking more akin to something one of those screaming toddlers might finger-paint.  
  
"Filthy habit," a blonde said as she sidled up next to him. "Got one for me?"  
  
Daryl let her draw one from the pack, leaning in to give her a light before nodding toward the tent.  
  
"What's that s'posed to be?" he asked.  
  
Andrea blew the smoke from her lungs. "Fortune teller. Trying her out for a week or so… see how it goes. Word is she's a local favorite, though that tent T-Dog's putting her in may dent her credibility."  
  
Daryl let out an amused huff. "Credibility? Starin' into a snowglobe and tellin' people what they wanna hear?"  
  
"She reads palms, not crystal balls."  
  
"Someone say balls? Must be talkin' 'bout me, sugarti-" Merle's booming voice withered as he rounded the corner and saw his boss glaring at him. She was clearly not in the mood to tolerate his mouth tonight. Merle wisely let the subject drop for once and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, looking at Daryl expectantly.   
  
Daryl rolled his eyes, but handed over the pack, completely unfazed as his brother pocketed it after lighting up. He made a mental note to buy more cigarettes on his way home tonight. Or maybe try to give them up again, if Merle didn't give him shit for not having any he could filch at a moment's notice.  
  
"How's the shin, baby brother?" Merle asked, smirking Daryl's direction. "Thought that kid might take you down back there. Almost laid money on it."  
  
"S'fine. Kid just wanted to protect his mom," Daryl replied, choosing to ignore the dig from his older brother. "Never shoulda been in there, though. Thought we had an age restriction."  
  
He glanced at Andrea with the last few words, who shrugged. "I'll take it up with T in the morning," she gestured toward the man driving support spikes into the dry, compacted earth across the way. "Probably gave Sam a pass since he knows the family. Meanwhile, here comes our fortune teller. Play nice, boys."  
  
The blonde stubbed out her cigarette and stepped forward to greet the approaching woman. Daryl's eyes were drawn immediately to hers… kind, calm, eerily familiar. His mind raced, trying to place where he'd seen those blue eyes before, but he was certain they had never met. Even during his childhood years, spent in this very town before he and Merle joined up with Andrea's traveling carnival, he had never stared into the eyes he was drawn into now. Except a nagging tug deep within his gut disagreed with that thought.  
  
"It's nice to meet you." Her voice tore him away from the fruitless search of his memory, and he nodded her direction, keeping a cool distance between them. She might have seemed familiar, but he knew better. She was a stranger. And strangers never benefitted by getting to know a Dixon. It was almost like a curse. One they'd borne their entire lives. One they'd take to the grave.  
  
She smiled warmly at him, tilting her head slightly. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of recognition cross her face before she asked "How's your shin? You must have a pretty big knot after getting kicked like that."  
  
Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin. "My shin? How… how'd you know about that?" Maybe she was the real deal after all.  
  
Her smile grew and she laughed. The panic he'd felt seemed to follow the sound of it as it caught on the light autumn breeze and was carried away.   
  
"I'm just messing with you," she said. "I overheard your conversation on T-Dog's walkie. Andrea's Talk button must be stuck."  
  
Andrea swore and turned off her walkie-talkie while Merle snorted. "Shoulda seen your face, man. That was the best entertainment I've had all week."  
  
Daryl could feel the heat rising on his face. Not just his cheeks, either. Forehead, chin, neck. She must have heard everything he'd said earlier, but that wasn't what bothered him. The problem was the split-second he'd thought she could see into his past. He'd never been comfortable with anything remotely supernatural, and if she could read him, she'd know that and a hell of a lot more. Psychics. Ghosts. It all gave him the willies. Hell, he even made sure he was never home when Merle watched his favorite vampire show, despite it more closely resembling a soap opera than a horror story. The fact he earned his living by pretending to be demon was an irony that had never been lost on him, but he'd always figured the best way to avoid the things that went bump in the night was to be one of them.  
  
"I'm sorry, truly. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Let me make it up to you with a free reading sometime," she offered.  
  
The thought was horrifying. Either she was a fraud and he'd have to listen to her struggle to make shit up, or she wasn't a fraud at all. A shiver ran up his spine, but dissipated again as soon as he looked at her face and that feeling of recognition came flooding back. Like she was safe somehow. He shook his head.  
  
"Not my thing," he said and stomped the lingering ash from his cigarette beneath his boot. "See you 'round."  
  
Her expression fell as he turned from her, but he fought off the wave of guilt threatening to roll over him. Showing her it was best to stay away from him early on was the biggest favor he could do for her. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as he stepped into the black of the haunted house and closed the door behind him, allowing the demons of his past to flit through his mind once more.  
  
Nobody was safe. Not with him around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I had posted the second chapter here, but I haven't - so sorry!

**A/N:** All the props to Emily/kaos for beta-ing this chapter! You rock!

* * *

 

"I'm sorry, Ms. Moineau, but-"

"Carol. Please call me Carol," she replied, nervously toying with the business card in her hand. _Glenn Rhee, J.D. - Attorney At Law._ She ran her thumb over the embossed letters and tried to wrap her head around what the man was telling her.

"Carol. I'm sorry, but our hands are tied. The paperwork was in order. Notarized. Legally, there's nothing you can do. The house and its contents were sold to Peletier Development Corporation eight months ago, allowing for owner occupation until the time of her death," the attorney explained.

"I- I don't understand. My grandmother, she talked all the time about fixing up the house. Leaving it in better shape for me. She was adamant that I would move in when she was gone." She shook her head in stunned disbelief. "It's been in our family for over 50 years… ever since my great-grandmother fled New Orleans. My mother was born in that house. Passed there. And now mémé…."

Carol fought off a fresh round of tears. The horrible memory of discovering her grandmother's frail body, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, had haunted her dreams for weeks. Every nightmare a reminder of the tragic accident that had taken the only remaining family she'd had left. She'd taken comfort in knowing the house would be left in her care. Even in its current condition, dilapidated from the last several years of neglect while her grandmother's mind slowly declined, it was special to her. She'd grown up three blocks away, and cherished summer afternoons on the back veranda with lemonade, or baking holiday pies and cookies in the roomy kitchen. All of her best memories were within that house, with the woman who always gave her a knowing look when she was troubled. Always listened and never judged. The woman who had shown such incredible dignity and strength when she'd lost her only child, Carol's mother, to a drug overdose when Carol was barely 20 years old.

 _"She couldn't handle the gift, ma fifille. It was too much for her, seeing the pain in people's lives. She was a beautiful, sensitive soul, and it took its toll on her. That's why you can't let it overtake you like she did. You're so like her… so lovely, and caring, but you can't help everyone. Resist that urge to see what should remain hidden. Do not delve into others' secrets without invitation. The gift will tempt you, but you need to keep it in check,"_ her grandmother had advised her.

She'd heeded the words, knew the truth behind them would protect her from a similar fate as her mother, but at the moment, she wished she had let herself journey into that darkness. To see what had been happening in her grandmother's diminished mind when she'd signed papers selling the house to some random corporation. To see how she would be torn from her so unexpectedly.

"Ms. Moineau? Carol?" Glenn asked, gently taking her hands in his. An image flashed unbidden into her mind. A little girl. A woman. Both smiling and hugging the man as he strolled up the front walk to a charming Victorian house. The little girl dancing in circles while the woman drew his hand to her abdomen and nodded, tears of joy starting to roll down her cheeks. Carol jerked her hands away and her eye immediately caught the photo on his desk. The little girl. The woman. Her attorney's family, soon to be growing.

"I'm so sorry," she said, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste to leave his office. She'd had no intention of intruding on his life, but her heightened emotional state left her vulnerable to involuntary visions. "I'm fine. I… uh, I need to go. I'll be late for work."

"Are you sure you're okay? I can ask Oscar to call you a cab, or I could drive you."

"No. No, I'm fine. Really. Just a little overwhelmed with the news. With everything. I'm only a couple blocks away, but thank you. For everything."

"You're sure?" Glenn asked again. "It would be no trouble to see you home."

"Yes," she said, finally starting to breathe calmly again. She smiled at him, grounding herself in the good news he would be receiving when he arrived home. "Yes, I'm certain. I won't keep you any longer. I'm sure your family is eager to see you, Mr. Rhee. I appreciate you staying late to see me today."

"My pleasure, Ms. Moin- Carol. And please, call me Glenn."

"Thank you, Glenn. Have a lovely evening," Carol said, making her exit. She nodded at the man at the front desk on her way out. Her mind was racing, but she didn't have time to think about all that now. She needed to clear her head if she was going to make it through her shift working at the carnival that evening. She made up her mind to call Peletier Development in the morning to see if she could figure out why her grandmother had done something so drastic as selling the house. Until then, she needed to focus her energy on staying calm and positive.

* * *

Daryl pulled out his lighter before he remembered he had no cigarettes, eliciting a soft curse under his breath. Of all the times to give them up, it figured he'd picked their busiest week. He fidgeted unconsciously, struggling for a distraction during his break, the effort of ignoring his need for a fix causing that very need grow with each second that passed.

"Looking twitchy there, baby bro," Merle's voice echoed behind him. "'Fraid that kid's gonna come back and finish the job?"

A heavy hand slapped down on his shoulder and Daryl shrugged it off, only mildly annoyed that his brother was laughing at his expense. At least Merle's jokes were something to focus on besides the craving he couldn’t shake.

"Outta smokes. Tryin' to stay that way," Daryl confessed.

"The fuck you doin' that for? Got some right here if you need."

"Nah. Like Andrea always says... filthy habit."

Merle snorted. "One she shares. Wonder what else she likes that's filthy? Huh? Ever think 'bout that? Shit, she probably likes all kinds of filthy things."

Daryl saw his brother's tongue flick across his lips and turned away. Merle lusting after Andrea, and every other reasonably attractive woman within a 10-mile radius, was never something he cared to witness. Instead he looked toward the purple tent, the sides billowing lightly in the breeze, and his mind turned to the fortune teller. Those eyes. The feeling of familiarity returned, and suddenly his craving for nicotine waned as a metallic tang hit his tongue and his thumb began to sting.

"Damn it!" he swore, shaking his hand as though to flick the pain out of it. He'd absent-mindedly chewed the nail on his thumb low enough to bleed.

"Sure you don't want a cigarette?" Merle asked, amusement lacing his voice as Daryl studied the self-inflicted wound. It was tiny. Barely noticeable, aside from the warm flush around it as his body rushed to heal itself. Merle chattered on, losing interest in teasing Daryl as he caught sight of something that seized his full attention. "Ah, now what do we have here? Mmm-hmmm. Might need to get me a taste of that fresh meat."

Daryl turned and saw where Merle's gaze had settled just as Carol entered her tent for her shift.

"Lick your wounds while I go get somethin' that tastes better," Merle said, sauntering off toward the tent. Daryl debated whether to stop him or not. What did he care if his brother hit on a woman he'd known for all of two days? It wasn't any of his business, and he didn't owe her anything. Better to leave it be. Keep his distance. Let Merle have his fun. He didn't care one way or the other if she fell for some cheesy pick-up line, or if Merle got a little too cozy. She was none of his concern.

Daryl was halfway to the tent before the last thought finished running through his mind. Carol's voice carried through the air and Daryl stopped just short of the opening to listen.

"Well, let's see. According to _this_ line, you could have quite a fulfilling love life ahead of you."

"Just how fulfillin' we talkin' here, darlin'?" Merle asked.

"Oh, I think you'd be quite satisfied," Carol replied.

"Yeah, I thought so. How 'bout you pack up a little early tonight, sugar? Take a ride on the Tilt-a-Merle?"

Daryl cringed, but listened quietly as the conversation continued.

"Hmmm. Tempting, but… _this_ line. This is worrisome. Depending on the choices you make-"

"What is it? What do you see?"

"Not much, sorry to say," Carol replied with a hint of amusement.

"Huh?" Merle asked.

"Well, it seems the Tilt-a-Merle would be a disappointingly short ride. Over before it started, really. I'll have to pass."

Daryl laughed to himself outside the tent, then pulled it together as Merle stomped out in frustration muttering something about lesbians, not letting on that he'd heard every word. He waited until his brother cleared the area, then poked his head in.

"Thought you might need a hand, but uh… I guess you can handle yourself just fine," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"It comes with the territory. Had to handle plenty of harassment," she said, smiling back at him. "If you still want to lend a hand, though, why don't you have a seat and let me read you? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the other night."

Daryl took a step backward, the smile fading from his face. He should have known better than to be friendly toward her. "Told you, not my thing."

"I know it's not, but it wouldn't be for you. You'd be doing me a favor." The feeling that he knew her surfaced again, punching at his armor, and instead of retreating, he stayed firmly in place. "You seem so… I can't place it, but I swear-"

"We met before?" he asked.

Her eyes grew slightly wider as he finished her thought.

"You get that feeling, too?" she asked.

He wanted to deny it. To end this now before something terrible happened, and something terrible always happened when he let someone in. He took another step backward and lurched, tripping over the chair Merle had tossed askew as he left, catching his thumb on the metal frame as he tried to find his balance.

"Fuck!"

The pain was sharp and he mentally kicked himself for getting so nervous and clumsy in front of her.

"Oh! You're bleeding!" Carol rushed across the tent, grabbing a tiny first-aid kit from her purse, and took his hand in hers, checking for the source of the blood.

"S'nothin'" Daryl said, staring at her fingers instead of his thumb. Warm and soft against his work-roughened skin. Her gentle touch cut into him deeper than the wound, the comforting nature so foreign, yet somehow welcome. His mind flew off in a thousand different directions, uncertain how to respond. She soothed him. She frightened him.

"Looks worse than it is," she finally said, opening the kit and pulling out a tube of ointment and a small bandage. "Might get infected, though."

His eyes tracked to her face while she opened the supplies. He couldn't figure it out, how she seemed to want him around, to get to know him, when most people gave him a wide berth if they noticed him at all. Even his coworkers tended to avoid him, with the exception of Andrea, but he figured she hovered to keep an eye on Merle and make sure he wasn't skimming the take.

"This might sting for a second."

She winced as she spread the ointment across his broken skin, as though she could feel exactly what he was feeling. When she finally got the bandage in place, she looked up at him, the blue of her eyes clouded with concern. He felt her give his hands a parting squeeze, but suddenly the thought of letting go, losing that brief bit of comfort, seemed harder than giving up cigarettes. He held her fingers tighter, and a barrage of vivid images flashed in his mind. A house… a witch… Merle and his buddies, egging Daryl on.

_"You too chicken, Darleena? I knew you didn't have the balls to do it," a teenaged Merle laughed. Two slightly smaller boys, Merle's dedicated lapdogs, laughed along with him._

_"I do so," Daryl replied, full of false bravado._

_"Well then, prove it. Ring the bell and run," Merle continued, lowering his voice to a menacing whisper, "as fast as you can, or the witch'll catch you and throw you in her cauldron."_

_The other boys laughed again, fueling Daryl's desire to show them he was just as brave as they all were. They'd all done it in the past week… snuck through the gate and made their way across the overgrown yard, climbed silently onto the porch, then rung the doorbell and bolted. Daryl turned toward the house again, steeling himself to show his big brother he was man enough at 9 years old to be part of their gang. Rule was you had be at least 13, but Merle said was willing to make an exception for him, being blood and all. As long as he survived the witch's house._

_Daryl swallowed hard and put his hand on the latch, swinging the gate open quietly. He ducked down as low as he could, bear-crawling across the yard, ignoring the jabs of thorny weeds mixed into the grass that poked at his palms. He was so close… almost to the bottom step…_

_The front door flew open with a loud crack and Daryl threw himself beside the stairs, tucking as tightly to the porch as he could._

_"I see you kids! Been ringing my bell all week! Get outta here!" the woman roared as she ran down the steps, chasing after Merle and his cronies. Somehow she missed seeing him in her rage, but when Daryl looked around, he realized his only way out was that front gate. The gate she was standing at now, screaming and shaking a large wooden spoon at his brother and his friends as they sprinted away._

_She would turn around at any second, and then it would all be over, boiling in her cauldron for the rest of his short life. In a panic, Daryl bolted up the stairs and through the front door, frantically looking for a place to hide. A hand touched his arm and he spun away, thinking the witch had caught him, but as he turned he saw a girl instead._

_"Shhhh. This way," she whispered, taking his arm again and pulling him into a large kitchen. Daryl spotted the oversized stockpot bubbling on the stove and froze._

_"Quick, in here!" the girl said, pulling a loose wooden panel from the wall. They ducked into the space, putting the panel back in place just as the witch entered the kitchen, chuckling to herself. Through a tiny crack, he spotted the old woman stirring her pot, steam rising and making the gray tendrils that had fallen out of her bun curl around her face. His throat went dry and he tried to swallow, managing only to make a small whimpering sound. The girl's hand closed around his and he was so frightened he didn't pull away. He held it tightly, as though it were his only chance of surviving this ordeal. He couldn't even turn to look at her, eyes locked on the woman puttering around her kitchen just beyond that crack in the wall._

_After several minutes that felt like hours, the witch moved the pot off the stove to cool. She smoothed her hair back into her tight bun, and snatched a piece of paper that had been held to the refrigerator door with a large magnet shaped like the state of Georgia. He heard keys jangling as she crossed out of sight, the sound of them growing softer, until in the distance the front door creaked opened and closed again._

_"That was close."_

_The small voice startled him. He'd forgotten she was even standing there next to him, but then she dropped his hand and moved the panel away from the wall. They stepped out carefully, making sure the woman had actually left, and replaced the panel. Daryl didn't stop to ask questions as he made his way quickly to the front door. He needed to get out of there. Get home before the witch came back and made him part of her next potion._

_He turned the knob on the door and yanked, but it didn't budge._

_"She locked it! But she never locks it. Oh no… oh no oh no oh no!" the girl squealed behind him. "Oh I'm gonna be in so much trouble if I don't get home before dark."_

_Daryl turned and stared at her. She was afraid of being grounded? When there was a witch that could stew them up at any minute? He turned back toward the door, studying the lock. It was old, the kind you needed a key to unlock from both sides. Daryl smirked to himself. All he needed was something to pick it with, just like Merle had shown him how to do after his last stint in juvie. He looked back at the girl._

Perfect _._

_"Gimme that," he pointed toward her hair. The girl stepped back, startled._

_"What?"_

_"That. The flower thing."_

_"My bobby pin?" she asked, confusion crinkling her brow._

_"Yeah. I can get us outta here."_

_She hesitated, but pulled the bobby pin from her hair. A white enamel flower decorated the metal at the bend. He eyed it carefully, then decided it was long enough to work. The girl gasped as he straightened it, ruining the pin, and he glared at her._

_"You wanna get outta here or not?" he asked._

_"Y-yes," she stammered. She looked at the bobby pin, then the lock, and took a deep breath, standing a little straighter._

_"Yes. Do it." Her voice was confident this time._

_Daryl leaned toward the lock, sliding the pin in and maneuvering it carefully. It only took a minute until he felt the click. He pulled the pin from the lock and turned the knob, holding his breath. The door swung open easily. He took a deep breath of the fresh air that rushed in before handing the bobby pin back to the girl._

_"Sorry 'bout that."_

_"It's okay. You saved us," she smiled at him. Before he knew what was happening, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Daryl stared at her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, then came to his senses and ran faster than he'd ever run in his life, all the way home. Straight into the room he shared with Merle. Directly into the bottom bunk, where he yanked the blanket up over his head but didn't dare fall asleep. He'd had enough scares to last a lifetime._

Carol's expression slowly turned from surprise to skepticism. She slowly reached toward his bangs, clearing them from his face, looking at his forehead. Daryl blinked in surprise as her finger traced a thin white scar along his temple.

"It was you," she said, a warm smile of recognition lighting up her face. "The boy with the scar on his temple. The boy who picked the lock."

She shook her head, incredulous but still smiling.

"All these years… I always wondered what happened to that boy. I looked for him, but I never saw him again, until now. And here you are. You found me."

She traced the scar again and he felt a shiver run through him, even though he wasn't scared at all.

"It was _you_ ," she repeated.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**  Trigger warning for attempted sexual coercion. Thanks to Emily for beta-ing, as always! <3

* * *

Daryl felt his whole body involuntarily tense, freezing with the chill of understanding what had just happened. She'd read him. She'd seen into his past.

He looked down at his bandaged thumb, sealing in the blood that had spilled over it a minute ago. A different image of his blood-covered hands flashed in his head and he dropped hers as though they were burning him.

"What all did you see?" he asked, barely breathing as he waited for her answer.

"Only what you wanted to show me," she explained, a weighty thickness seeping into her voice. "I can't… well, I _can_ see more, but it's dangerous. After my mother… after we lost her… my grandmother taught me never to seek what isn't freely given. Intruding on someone's mind like that takes a toll. Physically. Emotionally."

Daryl's fear ebbed slightly, enough that he realized he was still staring at his hands. He finally tore his attention away from them, looking back up at her face. Her eyes were growing pink, watery, and he watched as a tear slowly tracked down her cheek.

Oh fuck. She was crying. He had no clue had to handle a happy woman, let alone one that was crying. The urge to run like his nine-year-old self crashed into him, but before he could make his feet move, she wiped her tears away and spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I don't make a habit of crying in front of people. It's just… my grandmother. Her loss is recent."

"Uh, sorry 'bout that," Daryl said.

"Thank you. That house we were stuck in? It was hers. I snuck in that day to smuggle some of her cookies. I wasn't supposed to be there, but those chocolate chip ones were impossible to resist," she said, a slight smile brightening her face as she reminisced. Daryl's mind worked overtime trying to piece things together as some of her buoyancy returned.

"That was your grandmother?" he asked, stunned that the woman who had scared him half to death could even _be_ something as seemingly innocuous as a grandmother. "The witch?"

"Witch?" Carol laughed. "Well, she knew some of the kids thought that about her. Had some fun with her reputation sometimes, when they bothered her, especially this time of year. But no, she wasn't a witch. I know some wonderful witches, but my grandmother never practiced the craft. She saw things, just like her mother did, and my mother did, and I do. All the women of our family, we have a gift. Or, I guess… it's just me now."

Her voice had turned wistful and Daryl shuddered at the thought of her crying again.

"So, that house…" he started, trying to distract her, "it's still standing?"

"Yeah, it is."

She offered him a weak smile and then stared past him, as though her mind were a million miles away, and Daryl took that as his cue to go. He'd already spent too much time with her. Let her see too much. That creepy old house, that witch who wasn't actually a witch after all, they had haunted his nightmares for years. Until the true nightmare began, and he joined Merle on the road, travelling from place to place and never looking back. This town had always nipped at his heels, tormenting him, and now he was being stupid enough to let it.

"Break's over. I gotta go," he said, starting to turn away from her.

"Wait… please." He stopped and took a breath, telling himself to just keep walking, but then she really smiled at him, her whole face lighting up, and his legs stopped cooperating.

She rummaged in her sweater pocket and pulled out a small object, holding it in her flattened palm so he could see it. A slender piece of metal, decorated with a small, white enamel flower.

"It was my favorite, even before you ruined it. More so now," she laughed.

"You kept that thing?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah," she said. "It's been my good luck charm ever since that day. My reminder that no matter how bad things seem, there's always a way out. There's always hope."

Daryl glanced at the bobby pin, now twisting between her fingers. Those same fingers that held his a minute ago, soft and kind and healing. The ones that had revealed their shared connection, bringing back old fears, then reassuring him that the worst remained safely hidden away. Those gentle, hynotizing fingers… taking his again, slipping the bobby pin into his palm.

"Take it."

"Huh?"

"Take it. I think the boy who taught me not to give up, who's still teaching me that… well, I think you might need the reminder more than I do."

She leaned in and delicately kissed his cheek in the same spot she had years ago. Daryl was certain his slack-jawed reaction echoed through the years as well.

"Thank you," she whispered. "And I'm really glad you quit smoking, by the way. You never know… maybe this will help."

"Uh, yeah, sure. You're welcome," he stammered. "Wait? How'd you know I quit smokin'? Walkies again? Merle bitchin' 'bout it?"

"No," she answered. The look on her face remained cryptic, and Daryl's arms were suddenly covered in goosebumps. This time he heeded the urge to flee, pocketing the bobby pin next to his lighter and striding briskly out of the tent.

* * *

The third step creaked as Carol climbed the porch, the noise as familiar to her as her grandmother's voice has been. She'd grasped the knob before she remembered. She no longer had the right to open this door at will. 

Her hand dropped heavily to her side, that all too familiar sting hitting her eyes before she took a shuddering, deep breath. She gathered her wits about her, determined to be as professional as possible in dealing with this man who'd agreed to walk her through the paperwork and recount his conversations with her grandmother. Carol reached out and rang the bell, steeling herself as she heard heavy footsteps approach the door.

"You must be Carol Moineau. I'm Ed Peletier," he said, extending his hand to shake hers. He was physically intimidating. Tall, husky, hovering just inside the edge of what she considered a comfortable amount of personal space. The grip on her hand was rather firm, but he offered her a warm smile, putting her back at ease. "Come in, please."

He stepped aside and gestured for Carol to enter, but she stopped short when she saw the staircase just inside the entryway. She'd entered the house several times since she'd encountered that horrible scene, but she hadn't been able to free her mind of seeing it all over again each time she looked at that spot.

"You okay?"

There was an edge of impatience in his voice.

"Yes," she answered, tearing her eyes away from the stairs and looking back at him. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Alright. Paperwork's in there," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen, the warmth returning to his voice.

Carol walked in, half-expecting to see mixing bowls and flour scattered across the table. The neatly displayed stacks of paper were a disappointment.

"These are the seller's agreement and the copies of the escrow account, and over there is the contract allowing your grandmother to occupy the house until the event of her death," he explained. "I'm happy to answer any questions you might have."

She leafed through the papers, looking for any minor detail that might indicate why her grandmother had made a deal with this man, but each page made her heart grow heavier. All business legalese. Facts and figures. Cut and dry transfers and dollar amounts and… the _dates_ , the only thing that seemed odd. Her grandmother had signed everything on the anniversary of her mother's death. Carol had stopped by that evening, as she always did, and her grandmother hadn't mentioned a word about any of this.

"I appreciate your kindness, allowing me to look through these, Mr. Peletier. Did she… did she say why she wanted to sell?" Carol asked, no closer to finding answers than she had been the day before.

"Well, I made her a very generous offer, as you know. Five percent more than the appraised value of the property. Think she said something about looking out for family. Financial issues and all."

The shame kicked her squarely in the gut. She'd been laid off from her job last year, and had spent everyday since working temp jobs, cleaning houses, whatever she could find to keep the lights on in her apartment. Her grandmother had offered to let her move in, but Carol was too proud. Too stubborn. She kept scraping by, surviving on cheap noodles and burying herself under three blankets when the temperature dipped low on winter nights. She was shocked by her recent good fortune when Andrea offered to pay her more for one week of reading palms than she could make in a month waiting tables at the local diner, having tracked her down by reputation alone. She'd always had qualms about making money off her gift, but she'd become desperate, especially when she needed to hire an attorney to check into the unexpected real estate transaction.

"She said that? I, uh, I lost my job a while back. She wanted to help, but I wouldn't accept it. Must be why she didn't tell me about any of this," Carol explained, not quite able to meet the businessman's eye.

"Ah, I see," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'm real sorry for your loss, Carol."

She winced at his touch, at his lack of formality when he addressed her. She was suddenly aware of just how alone they were, in a rundown house at the end of a half-vacant block, dutifully avoided by anyone who didn't have to be there.

"Thank you," she said, stepping back from him as casually as she could. "I appreciate it, Mr. Peletier."

"You can call me Ed," he said, not making any other attempt to touch her. She began to relax, convincing herself she was being ridiculous. The man was trying to be polite, comforting. He knew she was grieving.

"Ed," she said, giving him a small, nervous smile. "Tell me, would you consider selling the house back to me? It's been in my family since before I was born. I could return the money you paid once the will is verified. My grandmother left me her cash and bonds. It should be enough-"

He cut her off with a harsh bark of laughter. "Lemme just stop you right there, Carol. This house is practically worthless, except for that… right there." He tugged at her arm and pointed out the window.

"You see that stretch of mud there?" he asked. "That's gold. Or at least, it is for me, since I own all that land behind it."

"I don't understand," Carol said, pulling out of his grasp and taking a step back. He tilted his head, smiling at her in that condescending way that usually preceded someone telling her not to worry about something, to just be pretty. Her eyes narrowed in anticipation of it, but he didn't bother with a sexist remark before delivering the blow that made her heart sink.

"This house is scheduled for demolition in two weeks. It's blocking the right-of-way to my new development. _Peletier Development Corporation_. I build houses. It's what I do. I don't go around flippin' 'em."

The mask of concern had slipped from his face, and he took a step toward her again, his voice lowering as he did.

"Look, I know that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's happening. Now, I realize this place is sentimental to you, being your grandmother's and all. And since I own the contents, maybe I could let you have something to remember her by. I'll take you upstairs, you could get some of her jewelry. I do you a favor, you do me a favor…"

His hand slid down her arm and wrapped around her waist as he leaned in against her, breathing loudly in her ear.

"What do you say, Carol? How much does your beloved grandmother's stuff mean to you?"

"Stop it," she said firmly as she spun away from him, eyes spitting sparks. "Where do you get off, pulling something like that?"

The charm he'd displayed earlier vanished, and the real Ed Peletier smiled at her then, cold and leering and sending a shiver all the way down her spine.

"Was hoping to get off upstairs, but I guess you don't want any of your family heirlooms. S'alright, though. They'll get me a nice haul at auction," he said, his tone wrenching fear and rising bile in her stomach. "Unless… you sure you don't wanna reconsider?"

Carol pushed past him, but he seized her wrist, twisting her back toward him. Her mind flashed to a contract. Dates matching the other paperwork. The names the same. But the words... she couldn't make them out. Obscured and hazy. Different somehow.

Before she could react, a loud crash banged beside them, surprising them both. The kitchen window latch banged again, then flew open with a hard wind, sending the papers flying across the kitchen. Carol wrested herself from Ed's grip and ran, leaving him cursing and scrambling to gather the papers as they swirled around the room. She threw the front door open and bolted down the steps, not stopping until she was in her car, doors locked. The keys were shaking in her hand as she turned them in the ignition, and she glanced toward the house as she finally got the engine to turn over, catching a flicker of light in the upstairs window of what had been her grandmother's bedroom.

_It couldn't be._

She blinked hard, certain she was imagining things in her state of upset, and threw the car into gear. As she pulled away from the house, her mind raced with everything she'd seen in that flash. An agreement that Ed Peletier had seen, yet was nowhere to be found in the stacks of paperwork he had presented both her and her lawyer.

When she had driven far enough to feel safe, she pulled over, fighting the nausea roiling in her stomach, clearing the tears from her cheeks with trembling hands. Her head swirled with dizziness and ached as though it may split apart, not only from her close call, but because of the side effects that came hand-in-hand with her uninvited vision. Whatever was in that contract, he'd intended to keep it a secret.

She was certain now, of what she'd suspected since she'd met with Glenn Rhee. Her grandmother never intended to sell the house. And she needed to prove it.


End file.
